, with lowering brow and an exaggerated air of indifference,
turned and walked deliberately off the field. For an instant Ranny stood
silent, a deep red flaming into his face. Then he whirled impulsively
on Ward.

"Are you crazy, Sherm?" he demanded hotly. "Why, you'll queer the whole
team by sticking in a greenhorn only three days before the game."

"I don't agree with you," retorted Ward, curtly. He spoke quietly enough,
but a faint twitching at the corners of his mouth showed that he was
holding himself in with difficulty. "Wilks has had plenty of warnings,
and has seen fit to disregard them utterly. Besides," his voice took
in a harder tone as his eyes followed the departing player he had counted
on using in the scrub, "I'd rather use anybody--little Bennie Rhead,
even--than a fellow who shows the lack of spirit he does. Take your
place, Tompkins. Frazer, shift over to right tackle on the scrub.
Edwards, you come in and play left guard for to-day. Scrub has the ball."

Ranny Phelps bit his lip, glared ill-temperedly, and then subsided.
Tompkins shifted over to the regulars, his mind a queer turmoil of
delight at the advancement, and regret and apprehension at this new
cause for bickering among the players. Practice was resumed, but there
was a notable feeling of constraint among the fellows, which did not
entirely pass off as the afternoon wore away. Ranny held himself coldly
aloof, playing his own position with touches of the old brilliancy, but
ignoring the chap beside him. Torrance and Slater, and one or two of
the scrub who were part of the Phelps clique, whispered occasionally
among themselves, or darted indignant glances at the tenderfoot as if
he were in some way responsible for the downfall of Wilks. Dale tried
not to notice it all, and devoted himself vigorously to playing the
game, hoping that by the next day the fellows would cool down and get
together.

But somehow they didn't. There had been time for discussion with the
disgruntled Wilks himself, and if anything, their animosity was
increased. It was so marked, and the effect so disastrous, or so it
seemed to Tompkins, to the unity of the team, that after practice the
tenderfoot hesitatingly approached Sherman Ward. It was not at all
easy for him to say what he had in mind. For one thing, the idea of even
remotely advising the captain savored of cheekiness and presumption;
for another, he wasn't personally at all keen to take the step he felt
would